


Leave-taking

by CaffieneKitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Canonical Character Death postscript, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e15 Death Takes a Holiday, Gen, not really a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One helped save the other, but now it's time for them to meet for the first and last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave-taking

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally posted on Livejournal March 16, 2009_

Pamela looked at Sam and Dean as they steeled themselves to deal with her corpse. It had taken dying to get her vision back. The exchange wasn't worth it.

The thing she'd seen in Sam was still there, harder to see when he wasn't using it. It was like a shadow that only fell on him. His eyes shifted, still processing what Pam had told him. Good.

"Pamela."

The soft voice behind her wasn't familiar, but it wasn't like she was expecting anyone else.

"What kept ya? Hot date?"

"It's time to go."

Pamela turned to face the Reaper. Smooth dark hair and a round face set on 'sad and sympathetic' that to Pam seemed about as genuine as- well, as her own had been when she did bread-and-butter seances for clients to talk to their great-uncle Phineas. Window-dressing, all part of the show. Pam snorted.

"You know what, sister? I died helping them save your ass, so shove it."

The Reaper had the decency to look down at her feet for a second before looking back up. "I appreciate your sacrifice-"

"You _damn_ well better," Pamela snapped. She turned back to watching the Winchester boys force themselves through the motions of packing, clearing the hotel room of prints in strained silence. " _Someone_ damn well better."

"Regardless, it's still time to go."

Pam felt a cool touch on her shoulder and shrugged away. "I told you to shove it."

The cool touch dropped off her shoulder. Pam watched Sam bustling that perky ass of his around, shadow and all, repositioning her corpse. Her body would be found as a murder victim of the poor bastard who'd been possessed. Crappy, but expedient. She wondered where the possessed guy's ghost was, but since he'd been dead when Sam- when the demon went away, his spirit must have departed long ago. One way or another.

The Reaper was waiting.

Pam turned back to the sad-faced girl. "So, I get killed helping you out, helping prevent the goddamn apocalypse and it's business as usual. I'm just another dead thing to herd?"

"In the end, why you died doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" Pam's voice was ice.

"It never does."

Pam laughed sourly. "Nice. Real nice."

The Reaper said nothing. Stood there looking sorrowful. Pam felt like smacking her, just to see if she'd change expression, react somehow. Say 'Thank you'. What the hell, she was dead, right? How many chances do you get to punch Death in the face?

The hotel room door opened and Pam turned to see the Winchesters, paused at the door of the room, looking back at her corpse.

Sam's jaw clenched and he said nothing, turning quickly away and leaving the room. "I'm sorry, Pam," Dean said, then followed his brother, quietly closing the door.

"Sorry ain't worth crap, Dean," Pam whispered as the door closed behind them. She sighed, deflating. Punching the Reaper wouldn't do any good either. What's done is done.

"I never asked for this. Any of this."

"Most people don't." The Reaper's voice was calm, neutral, practiced. "Everyone dies anyway. Most move on. Those that don't... well, in your line of work, you know what happens to those that don't."

"Yeah. I know." Pam looked back down at her corpse to the bloody mess on her favourite Ramones t-shirt, the one she'd started wearing more when she was blinded, running her fingers over the applique, tracing the faces of the band. She tugged on the undamaged hem of the shirt she was wearing now, knowing it had no more physical substance than she did, the touch just a memory.

Behind her the Reaper was a silent presence, still waiting.

Since last September, Pam's eyes had been burned out by an angel, she'd helped a fallen angel recover her memory, and now she'd helped rescue a Reaper from a demon plot to end the world. All signs pointed to things getting worse, much worse. And then there was Sam. Sticking around was starting to seem like a dumber idea by the second.

Damn all Winchesters anyway. She turned to face the Reaper.

"You got a name, girly? Or should I just call you George?"

The Reaper smiled. "Tessa."

"Tessa. Are you gonna feed me any bullshit about how I'm going into the light, or heading to a better place?"

Tessa smiled enigmatically. "Couldn't tell you. But I know you appreciate honesty. I won't tell you anything that I don't know for myself is true."

"No crap about loved ones waiting to meet me, no crap about getting a chance to meet Joey Ramone?"

"No crap. I promise."

"Good."

"All I know, truly, is that it's time for you to go."

Pam exhaled, long and slow, and let go of the hem of her shirt. "Okay."

\- - -  
(that's all. Nothing much.)


End file.
